


from the moment i read them i knew you were mine

by FullmetalChords, mother_hearted



Series: Toki and Meg's Faerghus Husbands AU [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Epistolary, Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, No War AU, Pillow Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25957441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullmetalChords/pseuds/FullmetalChords, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_hearted/pseuds/mother_hearted
Summary: Now, I'll admit, this sort of letter is as new to me as it is to you. You'll probably end up more adept at it than I am - you read so many more books where characters write salacious letters to each other.Still, for you, I’ll give it my best shot.--In ink filled pages, Dimitri and Claude's relationship continues to prosper.Co-written between FullmetalChords and mother_hearted for day 6 of dmclbdayweek!
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Series: Toki and Meg's Faerghus Husbands AU [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881556
Comments: 5
Kudos: 64





	from the moment i read them i knew you were mine

**Author's Note:**

> We've moved along three years in our timeline and as a result Claude (FullmetalChords) and Dimitri (me) have gotten into the habit of sending each other letters.
> 
> Please enjoy this epistolary piece!

My sweet Dima,

With your permission, I thought I'd try something a little different in today's letter.

Now, I'll admit, this sort of letter is as new to me as it is to you. You'll probably end up more adept at it than I am - you read so many more books where characters write salacious letters to each other. Still, for you, I’ll give it my best shot. 

Think of it as me continuing to practice the softness you always encouraged me to show.

Do you miss me as much as I miss you, Dimitri? Three years since I got to hold you. Three years since we said our not-goodbyes when we graduated from Garreg Mach. Do you still ache for me, like I ache for you? 

Do you still burn for me, like you used to?

I'm in my bed right now, my Dima. In Derdriu-- there are bookshelves lining the walls of my room, a roaring fireplace. A yellow coverlet bearing the crest of Riegan… But I've pushed that aside. I'm lying bare beneath crisp white sheets, waiting for you to discover me. Just like you did, our last night together at school. My fingertips trace paths down my thighs as I wait for you. 

How much longer until you come through the door, Dima?

Waiting for you,  
Claude 

Darling,

It is sweet you consider me an expert but I can hardly agree. I could never hope to be as purple as some of the prose on my shelves. 

Claude - I remember our last night well. I still ache to feel your body bracketing mine, blocking out the world and demanding I focus only on you, leaving even my demons behind. You were so powerful - you still are. 

How can a man be such a force when I find him lying on his back like this? I quiver when I see you. I am not graceful when I come to you. I forget myself. I have become a man but when I find you I - 

Apologies. I am - unsure how detailed you would like me to be. I've grown so flushed just by picturing you, how gorgeous you look in your bed... I want to be in it so badly. Holding you. Kissing you. Loving you. 

I love you, darling. 

I think I need another letter to... get my bearings properly. 

Please, be patient with me.

\- Dimitri

Sweetheart,

You can be as detailed as you're comfortable being. Every letter I get from you is kept in a safe place, locked in a drawer by my bedside where prying eyes will never get to them… and if you're afraid I might laugh at you, please don't be. Every word you send me is a beautiful gift. 

I can feel you already...the mattress sinking as you come to sit on the edge of my bed. Your eyes -- eye, forgive me, I forgot about your accident -- fixed on my every move. You look at me like…

Oh, Dima. I have missed the way you look at me. The way I know I am cherished in your sight. There is hunger here, between us, but there is also love. Love that we have fought so hard to build, to keep. Love that has not only stayed intact these past three years, but only grown. Love that...that you have taught me is a safe thing to feel and express. 

Let me show you tonight, how much I love you?

Yours,  
Claude 

Dearest,

If I have taught you love it is only because you have taught me the same. I want very much for you to show me… anything and everything. One foot apart or one country border away, my desire for you remains the same. I… I crave you. I want to - stroke my fingertips down your arms. Remind your skin of my touch. I do not want to rush. I want to feel your hands on my body too. Exploring each other all over again… 

I miss you. This is not meant to be a sad letter, but I cannot lie, I think of you often. I miss the weight of your hand in mine. Your voice in my ear, how you send me to dizzying places no other man can. 

There are things I want, Claude. So many things… Things I was too shy to ask for, when we were just boys. 

Perhaps I will find the courage in my next response,

Dima

Dearheart,

You're doing so well… Through your words I can feel your fingers on my skin, the same paths they traveled when we were younger. While I miss you just as much as you miss me, your words have always been a comfort to me.

Whether in a normal letter or in...something like this.

I kiss you as you sit before me. Gentle, no rush, with our entire lives before us. Your mouth is so soft, so welcoming of mine. Fitting together like two puzzle pieces, long lost, shuffled into the wrong boxes. We've always fit together so perfectly… I feel lost, at times, without you by my side, but at the same time you're always with me.

Does that make sense? I'm not sure if it does. But I feel you with me, always, in my mind and my heart. At the same time, I long to know you deeper. 

Find your courage, my dear. I sit at your side, waiting, my hand finding its way into yours.

Claude

Oh Claude,

I feel so foolish when I realized I could have sent you something much sooner. I know you can feel me with you all the same but to combat that feeling of - being without your puzzle piece, I hope my ribbon finds a home around your wrist or ankle. My hair has grown long enough that I use it to tie it back. Now, I want you to use it to tie me to you.

You have always fit me so perfectly, and have always been so patient with me… We trade kiss after kiss, my mouth gliding off of your lips. I feel cherished as much as I feel desire. You warm me like no other. 

I - must confess. My mind follows one track when I think of you making love to me. 

I know you are not blind and that you have read my books. Still, I feel… self-conscious that my request is. Too much. I know you will tell me otherwise but still I worry…

For too long I’ve dreamt of you penetrating me, stroking my depths. 

I don’t know what else to say. I cannot see your face, cannot read your reaction. 

I will dream of you until then,

Dima

Dima, my Dima,

Thank you. Thank you for giving me your favor. I bound it to my wrist, tucked beneath my sleeve always. I hope this handkerchief will bring you some comfort, too… I soaked it in your favorite scent of mine just before sending it. 

Thank you for the ribbon, but thank you even more for your honesty.

Oh, Dimitri. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. Crown prince of Faerghus. Holiest of princes, love of my life.

When I think of us making love, I often think of our days in school. When you would lie on your back and I would rut between your legs, pretending to take you. The way it used to excite us both.

We were boys then, and not ready to do so for real. I do not regret not taking you when we were in school. But now that we are grown, oh, Dimitri. There have been nights when, for the ache of missing you, I have oiled my fist and thrust into it, keening your name. It is a poor substitute for the ways I dream of you.

Tonight, as you visit me in my bed, I start helping you with your buttons (so many blasted buttons on your clothing! How do you get into it without help?) and I say to you:

I can give you everything you want, tonight. Make love to you exactly how you've dreamed. On your back, on your belly, astride me like one of your steeds. You can see, beneath the sheet, how I twitch in excitement just to think of it.

You have me, Dimitri. Now, how would you have me, have you?

Eagerly,  
Claude

Love of my life,

I cannot lie to you. It is obscene the number of times I have taken myself to bed since receiving your last letter. I buried my face in your handkerchief, pretending it was your neck while I found my pleasure. 

Your tongue has only grown more wicked these past three years. 

How will I ever know peace?

I leave my belongings scattered on the floor, because I do not care, because you are looking at me, your hands are holding me. You are offering me a prize I have been dreaming about since I was seventeen and naive. I have thought of you too many times, in too many ways. I know your shape in my hands, even my mouth, but not…

I do not know how to say it. My face burns. You are better at this than I. Sharing words laced with spice. My stallion… I know no matter how, you would treat us both right. 

...on my back for our proper first is what I desire. To look into your eyes. To be wrapped in your arms as you - tame me. My knees grow weak picturing you above me. Making love to me in ways we only pretended. 

Please, would you tell me more, how you would love me?

Breathlessly,

Dima

Oh Dima…

If you think my words wicked, you surely haven't read your own. It's made all the more special to know how rarely you speak like this-- how often did I have to cajole you, back then, to tell me of your desires?

I adore you, beloved.

How would I love you… In truth, I would love you all the ways, and as many times, as you can bear to be, ahem, "loved". Until we are both sore from it, until all you can feel is me. But our first time…

On our first night, oh.

I welcome you as you tumble into my bed, bare and beautiful. Unashamed of your body, shameless as you rub against me. I say you're shameless, but the fact is, I am, too. I cannot help but rut against your hip as we maneuver so you lie beneath me, your golden hair fanned out on my pillow. Looking as though you belong here…

We are both so eager, but in truth, I cannot stop kissing you. It's been too long, and your mouth is so hungry for mine. Your tongue wet and warm as it brushes with mine, you pulling me down onto you--

…

...You were honest with me, and so I will be honest with you: I must pause writing this letter, as it's getting somewhat difficult to do one-handed. And until I learn to write with one hand and pleasure myself with the other, you will have to make do, my sweetness.

In the meantime, dream of me, and I will dream of you,

Claude

My Heart,

I am sorry for my late response. Please refer to my other letter first so you may be kept up to date with my business. I have reread all of your letters so many times this past week, surrounding myself with your love so that I may find some measure of peace while I sleep. 

I think of you atop of me, kissing me, knowing my taste in a way I am envious of… but I must confess. My thoughts as of late have grown stormy and bleak. The beautiful man you see under you, that you prepare to make sweet love to… I do not feel like him. He feels like a stranger to me. 

The way you speak of me… as if I am as radiant as a goddess. I wonder who you are thinking of, who you are looking at. I cannot fathom that it is me. 

I want it to be. Badly.

But I… 

I wanted to get back to you when I was feeling more… charitable to myself. However, I feared when that would be. 

Please know I am thinking of you, your handkerchief folded into a square and kept in my inner pocket. 

Yours,

Dimitri

My Dima,

It breaks my heart to think of you suffering alone half a continent away from me. If we weren't so close to brokering peace with the Almyrans (see the letter labeled "2" in this envelope for more), I would hop onto my wyvern right now and fly to your side, take you into my arms and kiss away your doubts. 

I am glad to know my words have brought you some comfort in your dark times. Allow me to give you some more:

You say you cannot imagine the man I speak so lovingly of is you. But I have told you, in the past, that there is no one I dream of but you. I have never fantasized about taking anyone to bed - was not sure, in fact, I ever wanted to bed anyone at all - before I met you. True, now all I have to rely on is my imagining of you, based on my memory of you in school coupled with your descriptions of how you have changed… but I can't fathom I'm too far off. 

I wish that I could battle your stormy thoughts for you. Wish I could protect you from ever having them again. 

Find somewhere quiet for me, Dima. Get comfortable in your bed, stripped to your level of comfort. Lie flat on your back, or sit with your back against the headboard, and just - breathe. Count your breaths for me while you do. Don't worry about emptying your mind, but focus on what you can see and feel around you. Focus on the furs on your bed, how soft they are beneath your fingertips. When your voices get too loud, think about what is around you instead. Think of me, if it comforts you and does not make your sorrow ache all the more. But the crackling of your fireplace, the certain shape of your hands… Put your attention on those instead, when your thoughts become too painful.

I have a book that I'll send to you shortly, that I hope will help. Forgive me for not enclosing it here. It's lost among all my other things…

Are you in your bed? Are you breathing deeply? 

Perfect, my Dima.

And now that I have you in bed… If your thoughts are not too terrible, run your palms flat down your body. Pretend they are mine, if that pleases you, but more than that, focus on how it feels. The tiny divot of every scar, the firmness of your muscles, the softness of your thighs. You need not describe it to me; I have never forgotten your shape. 

Touch yourself gently, focusing on the sensation. How good it feels to have kind hands on your body. You needn't bring yourself to climax if you don't feel ready. 

Simply touch yourself, and think of me. 

Your loving scoundrel,  
Claude

[Enclosed in the envelope is a letter and thin sheet of fabric. Unfolded, the lavender fabric is embroidered with clumsy yet earnest lettering. A love poem from one of Dimitri’s books.]

Darling,

I have butted heads with your book’s advice to the point I nearly threw it in my fireplace. Thankfully, I was to meet Mercedes that day. I showed her the guide and she recommended I practice mindfulness while keeping my hands busy. I no longer break fragile instruments in my hands, so I took up her offer of needlepoint. 

I am sure my results are childish but I am pleased all the same. 

While I still find peace through physical labor and training, I felt a new calm, looking at something I created. I forget too often, I have the power to give and create. When you first instructed me to touch myself in kindness, it did not go well. I missed your warmth. I felt so terribly alone. I gave up, at that time.

I have come back to it since. 

I nestled in my furs and pet my neck and chest. I thought of you, my cheeky rogue in the night, teasing me… Whispering silky words in my ear. You are a scoundrel, my one and only, and I adore you. Your playfulness has saved me from myself more times than I can count. That you think of me, and feel appetite, flatters me to no end. 

I did not reach climax but I thought of you, as I rubbed palms over my chest. How I wonder if that curl of your hair still rests over your right temple, that I might play with it while you read. How you will fit tucked against me, now that I have grown like a flower reaching for the sun. 

There are more scars that decorate my body now, scars that are inevitable for northern men to carry. I am still hesitant to show them to you but you are - my home. And I am yours. I cannot deny you your homecoming. 

I could never… 

I yearn terribly and deeply, for you to know every part of me.

You make me so greedy and I’m so glad.

I will see you shortly in my dreams,

Dima

My dear Dima,

I'm relieved that Mercedes was able to help you make sense of my book - no, more than that, I'm glad she was able to help you. I love the embroidery you sent me. I like to hold it on lonely nights and envision your hands carefully stitching every letter just for me. To know that I am holding something you made for me…

It comforts me. You aren't the only one who misses our time together. I know well how much time I wasted at school, pretending that we were anything less than we are, trying to keep my heart guarded while it ached for more of you… But for all my thick-headedness, those days we had were the happiest ones of my life.

I cannot wait to have more of them with you, my dear.

The curl you talked about is right where you left it - the same lock I used to braid, yeah? And I love thinking of how we might fit together now, too. Sad to say I haven't sprouted a single inch… maybe next time you see me, you'll be the one covering me when we lie together.

When I… come home.

I think of that day so often, and will surely have thought of it at least five more times by the time you get this letter. Will you indulge me, sweetness, and let me continue to describe to you how I would make love to you when that day comes?

Let me know. I am more than happy to keep caressing you with words, not continue to stoke flames that we are doomed to enjoy alone.

Until then, my Dimochka,  
Claude

[A padded envelope stuffed full with four letters. The first three tell tales of civil unrest, a skirmish, and accounts of the wounded. The fourth page ripped from a log book, the style of paper different from the rest. It carries the strong scent of a piney cologne. On it, the ink is smudged, not properly dried before it was packed with the rest.]

I need you, dearest. 

Tell me how you will love me.

Do not be afraid of scaring me away.

All I want is to belong to you.

Dimitri

[Parts of the following letter have been speckled with ink, the handwriting a scrawl as though the author were in a hurry to dash off the letter and send it. The envelope, stuffed full, bears a heart on the flap.]

Dimitri, your eagerness is... intoxicating. It always drove me, back when we were in school.

It drives me now as we lie in my bed together.

I have pet over every inch of your body, learned all your new scars. Kissed every part of you that you will let me. But we have waited long enough, and so I reach for my oil.

You open for me so easily as I breach you with one of my fingers. Your body welcoming me inside you already, you holding onto me as you keen, asking for more. Taking more and more kisses from my swollen mouth. 

I am careful, always. As careful with your body as I promised to be with your heart. I am still in awe that you found something to love about the boy I was in school--

[The rest of the sentence has been scribbled out.]

This is not the time or place for that. Not as I prepare to make love to you. 

I stretch you with my slick fingers, making room for me inside you. That space that has always been in your heart, now within your body, too. And as I spread oil on my cock you keep holding me, legs wide for me, nothing but love on your lips and in your expression. 

I get a little carried away again with kissing you, even as the head of my cock presses against your entrance. Sharing love in every way we can as we prepare to make it. And this isn't the first time we've made love, though it feels like it. Every night in our beds at school, we were preparing for this. Preparing for our bodies to join as closely as our hearts. 

I take you slow. The head of my cock opens you up as I keep pushing forward, hilting myself in you, my sheathe. I am slow, careful, mindful of causing you pain...but there is none. I find myself inside you, where I was always meant to be. Fitting with you, my puzzle piece. Your legs around my waist--

[A huge line of ink scratches off the page, bleeding through the paper.]

Forgive me, Dima. I...I got a little too excited. I would quickly clean myself up and continue, but, well, I only have time to do one of those things, as the messenger is about to leave.

Write back as the spirit moves you. Stay safe- I worry about you fighting battles when I cannot watch your back.

Claude 

My sweet.

Do not fear, for I am safe. For all I have despaired of the roles foisted upon me, I have never backed down from any challenge. The gifts my family left me with, I use them wisely and abundantly. 

But I do not want to speak as a soldier any longer.

All I want to be is yours. Your Prince. Your Lover. Your ~~Husband.~~

When you enter me, finally I feel whole. You are home and as I grip your shape, I know I will never let you go. I weep for you, for how you cover me with every inch of your frame, for how you root into me with every inch of your manhood. I come alive when I feel you so nestled, so deep inside me. 

I scare myself with how I crave you, even knowing you are already here. I have shame no longer, I beg you with my legs around your waist, my fingers in your hair, to love me until I can’t walk, to love me until you collapse onto me. Take me until I am sore, and then take me some more, because our lips will not stop speaking endearments to one another. 

My scoundrel. My rogue. My darling. My everything. 

Make a mess of me in ~~my~~ our bed. 

Claude…

I fear I’ve exhausted myself just by writing this. My face is in flames when I face it but I do not regret it. The sun is just beginning to rise and as it washes me in its orange glow I yearn for you to see this sight with me. 

~~One day I~~

Forgive my messiness. My body has buzzed with these words since retiring last night. My headache has refused to leave and my wrists are still feeling tight (I will let you speculate why.)

My treasure, I do not have any ill memories of the boy you were. The moment I loved you I loved you fiercely. And now that boy has become the man who tells me he loves me, and goddess - I am growing misty eyed all over again. 

I love you, darling. 

Always,

Dimitri

Beautiful Dima,

I have clung to your last letter since receiving it. Hungrily rereading your words over and over like my favorite bedtime story - yes, touching myself, thrusting into my fist as a poor substitute for you, but also simply marveling at your warmth, your kindness, for the mess I was at eighteen. 

(I have also tried to read the words you crossed out...but alas! Keep your secrets for now, my love.)

Oh, Dimitri. You already are mine, as surely as I am yours. But if you wish for me to prove it by claiming you…

I can only oblige.

You are tight around me, your walls gripping me as though they'll never let me leave again. You feel complete, and I… I feel as though I have finally come home. 

With your permission, I stop holding back. Rooting so deeply inside you, claiming you as mine over and over again. Never letting either of us forget how deeply we are bonded, how firmly we are meant for one another. That beautiful pink blush has spread down your chest, and I wish I could take the time to kiss it, feel your warmth against my lips once more. I settle for kissing your sweet mouth, instead, murmuring all the endearments I have penned, letting you hear them from my lips now.

You sometimes speak of our making love as you wishing to be tamed, as though you are some wild beast. You are no beast, but a man, a beautiful man whose altar I worship at with my very body. My very soul. My seed the only tribute I can leave for you, my deity-- but one I leave inside you gladly, with your permission, spilling from me long after you have coated our bellies with your own spunk.

Beautiful pearls coating both our skin, a mark of your love for me. 

All my sunrises are already yours. I wake before dawn most days so I can meditate, and more often than not, my thoughts turn to you during this time. What you might be doing, if you are letting yourself indulge in a late morning or if you are already greeting the day with training exercises. If you have slept well the night before, or if your ghosts have left shadows under your eyes. 

But the sun creeps in through my window every morning, and as the shadows shorten in my bedroom…

I think only of you.

All my love,  
Claude

Dearest,

You spoil me so. I find myself feeling as giddy as the school boy waiting for you to step out of your classroom. And truthfully, with your last letter I have sated myself with a frequency I have not indulged in since being that giddy school boy.

I fear you have gotten all the details you will get out of me. I do not have the talent you do with words… and I am a simple man. I think of me on my back, you on my chest, and I am satisfied. To be worshipped by you… Thinking of such sweet treatment has brought many tears to my eyes.

They are not sorrowful, there is no need for apologies. 

They are healing. Now that I no longer reject the notion of you treating my body with gentleness, kindness, and love - I am starting to see the man you love take shape in my mind. I do not see him in my reflection just yet but I have hope to one day...

My darling Claude, this series of letters has opened my eyes to new possibilities. You have made me a far braver and adventurous man that I would have been without your crafty fingers penning such delicious and caring words.

In my quiet moments, when there are just murmurs in my mind I think of you - and all the ways you are Claude. 

Your latest fixation you have shared with me, the books you tower that one day I fear will topple and give you a concussion, and my prayers you are sleeping, resting your tired eyes. But most of all I think of you in my furs, bundled up in my arms, or riding through the forests I once hunted in as a boy. All my wishes and dreams… 

At their center is you.

All my love,

Dima

My life,

If you think I spoil you, it's only because you have given me permission to. You know that I've never thought of myself as particularly… emotional. Or at least, not particularly good at expressing my feelings. But your bravery in showing your own, the way you welcome my words, makes me feel brave enough to try, every time.

Words are, sadly, the only way I have to reach you now. The only tool I have at my disposal to make love to you from so far away. They feel so meager compared to what I want to do with you…

I know you're too shy to detail every way I affect you. Even in person, when we were boys, you were like that. Truthfully, that gives my so-called wicked imagination that much room to run wild about you, so… Omit away, my dear. My dreams of you will become that much more vivid in response. Mmm.

I will continue writing letters of us, then. Perhaps, if the spirit moves me, I will write you a story not unlike the ones you love so much. Only this one will star a prince, not a princess, and perhaps… Hm, a dashing young rogue climbing through his window? A rakish foreign duke with his sight on the prince's…… territories?

Call me a scoundrel if you like. I hope, at the very least, the thought amuses you.

I love you, my darling. Thank you for never letting me doubt that you love me in return.

Yours,  
Claude


End file.
